


and stars ignite (burn bright, surround you)

by philthestone



Series: nursery 'verse [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: New Republic Era - All Media Types, sort of I guess? - Fandom
Genre: F/M, also yeah they definitely officiate on kashyyk bye, and leia MOST definitely wore combat boots, au for the eu peeps, because Elopement Is The Only Way To Go, for this couple at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 16:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3817597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philthestone/pseuds/philthestone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lando claims straight-faced and solemn that he had absolutely <em>nothing</em> to do with the gaudy "Just Married" banners draped over the Falcon's hull, even if his best friend <em>did</em> go and commit the henious crime of getting married without telling him and depriving him of the excuse to get rip-roaring drunk.</p><p>Wedge, Wes and Hobbie have no such qualms, however, and freely admit to the synthfoil flower petals decorating the access ramp, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and stars ignite (burn bright, surround you)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm firmly convinced that Han and Leia elope. Trash with Hapans still happens in nursery verse, but in a very different way, because, like, Leia's not a limp noodle. And Han and Luke haven't been doing drugs. Nice.
> 
> Title from that one quote from Stover's ROTS novelization - _you_ know the one
> 
> (Reviews are cherry blossoms. Cherry blossoms are so beautiful, man, I wish I lived somewhere where I could actually see them in the spring.)

She is laughing against his lips, back pressed against the recently-closed hatchway and arms twined around his neck. Her hair still smells like those damn Alderaani jasmine flowers that used to drive him insane, sleek braids twisted elegantly around her ears and pinned in the back of her head as though she deliberately put the extra effort into making them harder for him to undo.

And, gods, it’s proving difficult to get any kissing done because they’re both smiling so hugely.

He gives it a shot anyway, half-delirious with – what? Excitement? Happiness? He would say that he’s been waiting for this moment for years, but really, that would be inaccurate. It has been a nebulous thought half-formed at the back of his consciousness and never voiced for soso many years, never examined or picked apart until the world had nearly ended for the second time (not _fully_ ended – fully ended, period and fullstop, had already happened twice before that). She had been dripping wet from her fifth shower in two days and still aching from the destruction wreaked by the past four years and he had been trying to focus on the way the water droplets slowly moved down from her neck to the hollow of her throat (trying to forget the way that he was, for the first time in his life, genuinely, irrationally afraid of falling asleep and never waking back up). She hadn’t even said yes, then, and he’d not thought that it fully mattered, then, and there were so many other things that probably should have demanded their attention (and did, after a fashion), then – and maybe they’re still both insane (they’re not, they’re not, _they’ve come so far he is almost overwhelmed_ –) but he does not think that anything has ever felt quite this _right_.

And he doesn’t really care at all that they’re supposed to be back in the cabin right now and the entrance hallway to the _Falcon_ is _probably_ the least convenient place in existence to do this, but the thin golden band on her finger is pressing against the topmost ridge of his spine and he drags his lips away from hers to press them along her cheek, trail them over her jaw down behind her ear. 

“We’re doing everything backwards,” she gasps, still laughing ( _delightedly_ , that is _delight_ dancing through her words, and _gods he can’t believe only a week ago everything was about to implode_ -) “we’re supposed to get a room, not –” (a vague, inarticulate noise; there is a flush slowly crawling up her neck) “– not go back to the ship, and we haven’t even properly taken leave for –” 

“Your idea,” he says, moving to the softsoft skin of her throat (and he’s pretty sure his hands have managed to get themselves tangled in the gauzy cape of the green dress and if he moves the wrong way it’ll tear and then she’ll probably kill him, but that is a thought that is formed so haphazardly and distractedly at the back of his mind that it disappears almost as quickly as it comes). She is perched against the handle of the hatchway, fingers of one hand fiddling with the buttons at his collar. The dark green skirt of her dress is drawn up over her knees and riding her thighs, and her toes have slid out of their boots, curled inwards and pressing into his calves. 

( _Combat boots_ , Force help them, and Luke had all but snorted aloud when she told him – primly and with more dignity than Han would have ever thought possible standing in the massive entranceway of the treetop house about to _elope_ – that you never knew what sort of last-minute dangers there might be and _you_ try wearing heels in a kriffing tree, Luke Skywalker, I dare you.) 

(And she had _still_ been the best-dressed of the six of them because he couldn’t find a proper pair of dress pants in less than half a day and did he even _own_ a proper pair of dress pants and Luke was unashamedly running around the place barefoot, for cryin’ out loud –) 

She angles her face so that she can kiss him on the mouth again, properly this time because she’s not smiling so damn hugely (he’s still struggling, though) and presses her forehead against his. 

“It _was_ my idea, wasn’t it?” 

“Mmm.” Breathing closer to panting, at this point, and her cheeks are glowing bright pink. 

“It was a good idea.” Her words are whispered, breath fluttering over his mouth, and he feels himself smile again – unrestrained, his lips tugging wide open as though possessing a mind of their own. 

“Most of your ideas are good.” 

She mirrors his grin, shifts so that her nose bumps against his and the press of her slender fingers against his skin is soft and warm. 

He can practically _feel_ her happiness. 

And she says, “I know,” light dancing singing sparkling in her bigbig eyes and he feels his breath catch altogether and presses his lips back onto hers impulsively, tastes the honeyfloral warmth of her mouth and wonders what good deed he ever did to deserve this. 

The universe burns brilliant around them. 


End file.
